My goal this winter–as it has been every winter for the past decade–has been to not get cited for child neglect. This is not as easy as it sounds, since ever since she has been able to take off her own clothes Clementine and I have been in a constant battle about what to wear in the winter. Traditionalist that I am, I tend to insist on old-fashioned things like coats, hats and gloves; Clementine, however, goes for the more minimalist look: jeans and a short-sleeved t-shirt for every occasion, no matter what. (Actually, this outfit would probably work for her if only I would go along with her other winter idea, which is for me to not only drive her everywhere she needs to go, but to be in a constant state of readiness–preferably in the car with the heater running.)
The funny thing is that, while I know that for many girls the refusal to wear clothes in the wintertime is the sign of being a fashionista, in Clementine’s case it is actually the sign of being a nihilist. What’s the point of trying to keep warm anyway? To her credit, at least she is fairly consistent in this philosophy. Why bother cleaning my room? and It doesn’t matter if I eat breakfast before the AIMS test being just two more examples of her devotion to the cause. Of course, when I respond to her comment against the wearing of warm clothing by positing that there must be some point to it–after all, you don’t see a lot of naked people on top of Everest–her nihilism segues into it’s natural companion–skepticism–and she replies “Mom, they have to wear coats on Everest–otherwise, how else would they ever be able to display all of their sponsors’ logos?”
For many years I was willing to accept her arguments against warm clothing as just another part of childhood, like vegetable loathing and soap and hot water avoidance, and was therefore willing to cut her some slack. After all, I thought, kids will be kids. But then–unfortunately for her–her little brother Clyde came along, and Clementine’s clothing fetish was exposed for the aberration that it is.
If Clementine is a nihilist, then Clyde must be a student of Leibniz– he certainly believes that this is the best of all possible worlds. And, when his “best possible world” happens to include snow, and therefore gloves, he is even happier, because obviously hands and gloves were made for each other. (Whether or not he is such a Panglossianist that he believes that hands were made with five fingers because that is the number of fingers on a glove is not yet clear.)
Even without the philosophical differences, though, I suspect that Clyde would still be easier to dress, because, above all, he is a regular guy, and therefore has the regular guy’s approach to clothing–in other words: just tell me what to wear. I could send him out the door in a parka in July or swim trunks in December, and, as long as neither of them were pink, he would stoically accept my decision.
The place where Clyde really blows it for Clementine, however, is in the matter of shoes. Case in point: he’ll wear them. (Again, whether this is because he believes that feet were designed to be shod is not yet known.) Clementine, on the other hand, true to her philosophy, insists that wearing shoes is of no help; although the sight of her hopping about on one foot and saying “Ow, ow, ow,” would seem to put the lie to that. Then again, the fact that most of her shoes stay hidden in some remote corner until they no longer fit is always there to reinforce her precious beliefs once more. After all: Nothing ever really fits, anyway.